


War Is Over!

by SomethingCorprt



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Inspired by Shameless (US), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-07 15:15:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10363341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomethingCorprt/pseuds/SomethingCorprt
Summary: One ShotMickey and Ian both served in World War II. The war has ended and now they are home. What happens when they meet?





	

Damn it was good to be home. The prospect of a mattress to melt into, a pillow that didn’t feel like a bunch of rocks and a hot meal--- all of which felt like a dream only a few weeks ago.

Chicago’s homecoming parade was a mosaic backdrop to the simplicities that Ian was conjuring in his head. He along with other veterans were finally home after the brutal war that engulfed all the so called “civilized” nations. A war that he was proud to serve in but would undoubtedly leave a permanent mark. While the confetti fell all around him, a sea of hands and faces congratulating America’s heroes home, soldiers embracing their families, wives, and their sweethearts; Ian felt a sense of relief and for once hope that he too could find that special someone.

 

After a hot meal at the Gallagher house, Ian decided he was going to go to the USO dance that was scheduled as part of the festivities. He put his crisp white button down on, tucked it into his trousers and hoisted up his suspenders. He looked younger than when he last really examined his face back in Europe, but even though the weight of the war had been lifted, Ian still felt withered. Ian shook it off, tonight was about new beginnings. He arrived at the dance and it was in full swing from what Ian could tell without having set foot inside yet. The sound of the band on stage clung to the air, young men and women loitered outside drunk off of possibility. Ian took a deep breath and headed inside.

 

The hall was decorated in red white and blue streamers. The lighting was just enough to see the vibrant colors  _ but _ good for the mood to be right between lovers. A punch station ran along the side of the wall followed by a stocked bar. The dance floor was packed, girls spinning, their skirts fluttering in the air. Men, some dressed in uniform and some more relaxed in jeans with a cardigan, pulled their ladies through their legs and caught them at the end of their slide. And honest to g-d, Benny Goodman himself was there. Benny freaking Goodman. The legend of Chi-town performing here. The drums pounded away, the clarinets whistled above the chaos of the drums and the piano added the electricity to the music vibrating through the hall. Ian placed himself along the wall of other John’s who were waiting for the right person to catch their attention when Bugle Call Rag started wailing from the stage. This song had gotten Ian through a lot of nights where he was stationed. His foot began tapping to the rhythm, he closed his eyes and let the song take over his body. He had one hand in the air-- his pointer finger extended, wrist moving to the beat. He’d never admit it to anyone but in his heart of hearts he wanted to dance to this song with the right guy. Ian was a great dance partner and although many a girl had given him that look, while standing mere inches from him, their hair glossy in the moonlight everything was right-- except him. It had taken Ian a long time to accept that he was gay. But accepting it and being it were two different things. So, his desires went unfulfilled.

 

The song was over and Ian headed to the bar, he ordered a beer and was mid sip when a drunk Joe slurred “Look at that Mick!” Ian was home for all of forty-eight hours and earned respect fighting in the war, but to the rest of the world was he always going to be a Mick? His head shot up and to his amazement so did a tightly wound brunette that he noticed just ahead of him. Both Ian and the brunette shot back to the Joe “Who you callin’ a Mick?!”

The Joe laughed as he collapsed into his buddy. The brunette looked to his right to see where the other voice had come from and he locked eyes with Ian.

 

Instantly everything faded away except for the two men. The party surrounding them blurred, the music muddled and striking blue eyes met lively green ones. This fixated look could have lasted for hours or minutes it was hard to tell. But now the world had shifted on its axis and instead of gravity holding Ian down he felt the pull of this man tethering him. Ian blinked and when his eyes opened the handsome stranger was gone. Was it even real? Ian shuddered. It had to be real. Ian scanned the room and he caught the back of the stranger exiting the hall. Ian crossed the room quickly to catch up. Within arm’s length Ian reached out and stopped the hypnotizing stranger. Like a whip he turned around, and eyed Ian up and down.

 

“Whatta ya think you’re doing?” responded the stocky stunner.

 

“You don’t look like a Mick” was all that Ian could stammer out.

 

“Mikhailo, Mickey for short, but no one calls me Mick.” he huffed.

 

The two stood there in silence as the band picked back up. Neither one knew what to do next. It wasn’t out of this world for other men to be of a similar nature as Ian. But it would be to forward for Ian to assume, let alone ask, a complete stranger his sexual orientation. Instead Ian did what he did best which was lighten the situation.

 

“Well I’m Ian but I get called Mick all the time and don’t like it much either.”

 

Mikhailo’s dark cloud burst, he laughed and gave Ian a sideways glance. “Bet you don’t soldier.” Ian hadn’t heard a more angelic laugh escape anyone's lips ever. The fact that something that pure could exist after what Ian had seen proved that there was still good in the world and Ian was determined to chase any good this world had left in it.

 

“Stationed in Ireland originally, guess they thought I’d be a good liaison or something 43rd infantry” Ian rattled off.

 

Mickey responded “You probably speak as much Gaelic as I speak Russian” shaking his head and starting to fidget with the cuff of his rolled-up t-shirt. Ian hummed his agreement. “I was born right here in Chicago but you’d think I was the son of Stalin himself the way some of the guys looked at me” replied Mickey. Ian could sympathize, he too had to prove himself within his own rank that he wasn’t an outsider. The two men let the memories whisk them away momentarily.

“Smoke?” asked Mickey, Ian nodded enthusiastically as Mickey removed a pack from his back-jean pocket along with a box of matches. He brought the cigarette to his lips and lit the first match, dipped his head into the protected flame and inhaled to get the end to catch. The orange embers glowing like lightening bugs signaling the right was lit and now the left had caught, a skinny trail of smoke dissipating into the air. Once lit, he handed the cigarette to Ian. It felt strangely intimate that Mickey had lit a cigarette for Ian. Ian put the cig to his lips and could feel the wet tip fall heavy on his bottom lip. It tasted of whiskey and salt and never in Ian’s life had he tasted something so heavenly.

 

They had stayed close all night, swapping war stories, some funny and some only to be shared amongst fellow soldiers. They downed drinks and commented on the band, Frank Sinatra, Perry Como, and what books they read while serving. It could have kept going but the room was starting to empty, clean up was underway and the men knew that they had to call it a night. As they entered into the Chicago night another longing stare transpired between them. “So, why’d you come alone tonight, where’s that genius brother of yours that you mentioned” asked Mickey.

Ian had danced around the subject of Lip all evening, making vague comments. Eventually he was going to have to admit the truth though. He let his head fall back staring at the night sky. With all the lights the stars seemed dim, less important, straining to gain the attention of the people below. “For what it’s worth the Irish countryside had some amazing stars.” Mickey looked up too. “Guess we really are home, huh?” Mickey said in agreement.

 

Ian slowly let his head come back to a normal position, observing the wonder that was written all over Mickey’s face as he star gazed. “My brother was a deserter” Ian said solemnly. “Lip thought his intelligence was going to be wasted on a battlefield. I told him that there’s so many positions within the military. With his smarts, they’d put him on some code breaking team or something.”

Mickey took a deep breath, skipping the draft? That was serious. He felt bad for Ian, the blemish this would cause him and his family. “Geez, guess smarts aren't worth a penny if you don't have courage.”

 

Ian relaxed a little, the burden of this secret was eating at him. While he was side by side with the toughest guys he would ever know, who had good hearts and were huge goofballs when not in the trenches, Lip was off dodging Uncle Sam's call. Now the Gallagher’s were going to be known as drunks thanks to his pop and cowards thanks to Lip.

“Look, if I had to answer for every mistake my family made, Army might not have even taken me.” confessed Mickey. “Now, I just want to collect my dues and get myself a nice bungalow up by the lake. No one to bother me. Just open space, fishing, taking it one day at a time. Think I deserve that.”

 

Ian too was looking to take his dues and get away from hectic Chi-town. Get a dog, and eat banana pancakes every morning. It wasn't glamorous, but it was the slice of heaven Ian was looking for. “Funny, I was thinking the same thing.”

The two fast friends stood under the street lamp watching their hometown quiet and dim. The buzz between them caused each man to fidget, unsure of what step to take next. “I dreamed of this” piped in Ian. “Wouldn’t let myself dream of much… not that I could after seeing what we saw… but I let myself have two dreams exactly.” Mickey looked at Ian, his throat drying with anticipation. Ian was staring at him with an open expression “I dreamed of finally being home.” Ian’s green eyes darkening ever so slightly as he took a step closer towards Mickey. “And the cabin on the lake, sharing it with someone, living the rest of our days off of the land and taking in the open sky.” Personal space be damned as Ian closed the gap between him and Mickey, and Mickey did nothing to regain his territory. The two stood so close Mickey saw two of Ian. Mickey’s eyes shifted from one Ian to the other, it was enough to handle one  sensuous green eyed guy, but he lacked the willpower to resist two. Mickey swallowed hard trying to steel himself but his feet were made of led refusing to move and the rest of Mickey was made of rubber leaving Mickey powerless. A small “hmm” escaped Mickey’s closed lips.

Ian looked around, it was desolate streets as far as he could see at this ungodly hour. Without any real proof or provocations on Mickey’s part, Ian intrinsically wrapped a well-toned arm around the small of Mickey’s back gripping him tightly. Ian shifted his weight so his legs were planted, firm, and dipped Mickey. He held Mickey there for a moment looking into his cobalt eyes which silently gave their astonished consent. And with that, Ian placed his thin lips on Mickey’s full pout, gently at first. Nerves quickly melted though, Ian licked his parted lips and used the tip of his tongue to press into Mickey’s warm mouth. Ian’s bottom lip dragged across Mickey’s upper chin and he tasted his skin, mixed with the beers they had drank. It was a wet kiss, with lite nips here and there from Ian to Mickey’s lips or neck and Mickey’s head lolled back in elation from his current predicament. Mickey steadied himself with an exasperated sigh and Ian remembered where they were. He straightened themselves upright and took a step back from Mickey but refused to break their eye contact. The emerald pools that captivated Mickey since the beginning of the evening were a treasure and within a treasure.


End file.
